My Daughter
by Princess Pinky
Summary: Amy and Rory have been stuck in the past since 1938, but when they catch up to 1969, Amy decides to start looking for their lost daughter.
1. Independence Day

**A/N:** Today is my friend **artismysanity**'s birthday! Happy Birthday, Girl! I wanted to give you a present, so here is a series of vignettes. (Spoiler Warning: if you haven't read it, there is an excerpt of an interview with Amy in 1969 in the print anthology of _Summer Falls and Other Stories_. If you don't want spoilers, don't read these vignettes!)

_**My Daughter**_

The first time she set out was just after dusk on July 4, 1969. Thinking like a writer, Independence Day seemed like a good place to start; strong symbolism and all that. She'd stop in every alley and flick on her torch—no, they were called flashlights in America—and wave it about like The Doctor used to with his sonic screwdriver.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

But Independence Day came and went and Amy Pond—no, they called her Amelia Williams in America—staggered home, her fingers numb and frozen into a claw as if they were still clutching the flashlight. She passed by Anthony's empty room on her way to their bedroom and climbed under the warm covers without changing out of her heavy red-and-black plaid shirt. She knew Rory was awake, because he wasn't making the fluttery whistle that old age had blessed him with a few years back, but like the good husband he was, he didn't say anything. Amy closed her eyes, but she didn't sleep.


	2. Not Soon Enough

_**My Daughter**_

Amy slunk into her third floor apartment on the Upper West Side just after midnight. She could hear Rory's voice in the kitchen but she didn't stop to eavesdrop. She was too exhausted; too heartbroken. She sat on the toilet as her bath water ran, filling the room with caresses of heavy white steam. White, all around her: she thought of Graystark Hall. But Graystark Hall wasn't warm, it didn't hold her baby girl in tendrils of fairytale mist. Amy felt her face grow wet but she couldn't distinguish if it was steam or tears. She shut the faucet off and began to unbutton her blouse when the door cracked. "Not now, Rory."

"Your son wants to talk to you."

Amy paused, her third button halfway out the button hole, and swished past Rory into their bedroom. She picked up the phone, covered the mouthpiece as she breathed in, and as cheerfully as she could, answered: "Anthony?"

"Mom!"

Amy shook her head, still not used to the way American children didn't say _mum_. "Hey," she said, forcing a smile that she hoped would reflect in her words. "It's late. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"College students don't sleep, don't you know that? We drink Joe and we study!"

There was something strange about his tone. "Sounds like you've had one too many. Maybe you need some tea?"

"You're so British."

"Oi! _Scottish_!" Amy fell back on the bed. "And what's the matter?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I'm your mother," she scolded. "We have intuition."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, softly, "S – I can't talk about it right now. Soon, though. Soon. I gotta go. Love you, Mom. Tell Dad I love him too."

"I will." The line went dead, but Amy held the phone to her ear until it began to beep. She set it into its cradle and pressed her hands to her face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rory in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light rushing in around him. She covered her eyes with her hands.

It would never been soon for Melody.


	3. Barren

_**My Daughter**_

The streets were empty. _Barren_, Amy decided, like herself, after Demon's Run. Of course they were. It was July 20, 1969, the day of the moon landing. Everyone the world over was glued to their television sets, watching Neil Armstrong's foot teach them how to become Silent assassins. That would be a good pun, she decided, if it didn't hurt so much.

Amy ducked into the next alley and stared at the rusting garbage bins. The smell was noxious: urine, rotting vegetables, a molding pile of dog feces at the edge of a pool of dirty rainwater. She pinched her nose and ducked into the alley. As she passed a cardboard box, she heard a rustling and turned. "Melody?!"

The box rumbled, collapsed, and a small arm stretched out. A _furry_ arm.

Amy's heart sank as a bedraggled gray feral darted out from the rubbish, jumped onto the hood of the garbage can, and escaped from the alley. She kicked the cardboard in anger and it dissolved like milk softened graham crackers, the kind she would never feed to her daughter as an after school snack.


	4. The Longing

_**My Daughter**_

When Amy walked in she found her husband in bed, with the light on, and a newspaper in his hands. No glasses, unlike her, he could see everything perfectly. She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her in the doorway.

"It's bad."

"Excuse me?"

"The hurricane. Camille."

Amy heard the newspaper rustle and turned to see what he was talking about.

"Haven't you been following the news?"

"No, honestly, I haven't."

"It hit Mississippi on the seventeenth. The damage is catastrophic." Rory licked his lips.

"What?"

"What?"

"No, don't echo me. You have something you want to say but you're not saying it. _What?_"

"I've been asked to go down to Mississippi and help with the relief effort."

She wasn't sure how to feel. "Oh." Amy turned to leave again and heard Rory fold the newspaper.

"That's it?"

Amy shrugged. "You should go."

"Why?"

"You can help people."

"And you can continue looking for her. All by yourself."

Amy dug her nails into the doorframe. "I was pregnant with her all by myself, wasn't I? I gave birth to her all by myself, didn't I? I spent the first three weeks of her life—"

"I looked for you! I looked for you _both!_ You know what? There_ is_ something I want to say! Damnit, Amy! I never even got to hold her!"

Amy blew around like a tornado, her hair spinning through the doorframe like a disc of fire. "And now she's somewhere in New York, maybe a block away from us, cold and alone and dying and_ nobody_ is there to hold her!"

Rory pushed off their bed. "I know! I _know_," he said, reigning in his emotions. "And what would you do if you found her?"

The tears began to spill down her cheeks, still cold from the night of searching. "I don't know." She flung her head back and forth, causing her hair to stick to her tears. "I went to Graystark Hall. I watched my younger self walk through the front doors. I could have changed everything; I could have saved her and brought her home."

"But you didn't."

"I can't change who she becomes; I can't erase River. It's not my right, just like it wasn't my right to kill the future me of the other time stream. But…"

"It does nothing for the longing."

Amy allowed Rory's wiry arms to encircle her and she buried her face into his neck. "It does nothing for the longing."


	5. One

_**My Daughter**_

"Husband!"

In the middle of the crowded airport she looked so happy that Rory almost didn't recognize her. "Wife?"

Amy threw her arms around him until he couldn't breathe. "It's a good thing you got back today, _Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!_ premieres tomorrow."

"You've already seen all of _Scooby-Doo_."

"But not during the original airings, Stupid Face."

The entire way to the car he listened to her chatter about Anthony, her recent book sales, and how she couldn't wait to repurchase _Abbey Road_ when it was released at the end of the month. She was so animated that he didn't want to bring it up, but he knew he had to: "You – you're in a good mood."

The car engine roared to life, but Amy's hand remained on the key. She stared at the horn for a while and then, without looking at him, replied: "She grows up with us, Rory. She gets to Leadworth…and then I remembered, in Berlin," Amy finally turned to him, "she also said she regenerated into a toddler in the middle of New York. Rory, how does a toddler get to Leadworth? _How?_"

Rory shook his head.

"Maybe – maybe we're the ones who send her there?" Hope beamed from her eyes. "It makes sense, doesn't it? We're all in New York right now!"

"Amy–"

"No. No," she shook her head angrily. "Don't spoil this for me, Rory! This has to be how it ends! We have to get her back!"

Rory shut his eyes. "She goes back to Leadworth to be trained by The Silence, Amy. If we're the ones who send her back, that's who we're sending her back to. I – I don't know if I could do that to her."

"We already did."

"We don't know that."

"_I_ know that." Amy gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles faded to the color of bone. "And even if I don't know tha, time can be rewritten."

"Not every time."

"One is all I need."


	6. Fate

_**My Daughter**_

"I just made a thousand dollars."

"Came up with a new idea for a book?" Rory asked over the rim of his morning earl grey.

Amy grinned. "Nope. I just bet Thomas the Mets would win the World Series."

"Amy!" he scolded. "That's cheating!"

"Fate stuck me in the past so she'll just have to live with the consequences." Amy stabbed one of her sunnyside up eggs and watched the yolk bleed across to her toast. "Besides, I'm donating it to charity anyway."

Rory's throat closed up midway through his tea when he heard her follow up her last statement with something about _missing children_. He set his mug down and stared at his plate. "We don't even know when she regenerates. There are so many alleys in New York, Amy."

"And I have so many nights to search them."

"Over and over again?"

"As many times as I have to."

"You're going to make yourself sick."

"I am sick. I've been sick. Ever since the moment she exploded in my arms."

"That wasn't her."

"It was her mind; it was everything that mattered."


	7. Ghosts

_**My Daughter**_

"And what are _you_ supposed to be?" their neighbor and sometimes-friend, Thomas Mallory, asked as Amy and Rory walked through his doorway.

"A ghost," Amy said unapologetically.

Thomas looked to Rory, who shrugged. He looked up and down the white hospital-like scrubs Amy wore. "Since when do ghosts where pants?"

"Since their daughters get stolen from their arms."

Thomas once again turned to Rory for help. "Is this from some sort low budget horror flick I don't know about?"

"Yeah," Rory said, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders. "It's called Demon's Run."


	8. Maybe

_**My Daughter**_

Amy parked her car on the side of the road and gazed up at the dark sky. 384,400 kilometers away, Charles Conrad and Alan Bean were walking on the moon. It was infuriating to know exactly where two people, so far away, that she'd never even met were, but her daughter, who was somewhere in the very same state, was lost to her.

_Sesame Street_ had broadcast for the first time ten days earlier and Amy had spent the entire time fantasizing about what it would be like to sit in front of the television with Melody, playing with blocks and singing their ABCs. Not that she would ever get that with her daughter. The last time she'd seen her, in Graystark Hall, she'd been a little girl, about the age Amy herself had been when she'd first met The Doctor. All that precious time, _wasted_. They were never meant to be happy. Except, of course, the one framed photograph of her smiling with Melody in her arms, and she _didn't even remember it_. Surely a trick of The Silence; surely it served them somehow, to create the illusion of beauty from terror.

As she got out of the car and turned on her flashlight, Amy wondered if somehow, somewhere, Melody was also staring up at the moon and wondering the same things. Maybe just a few inches away, maybe a few feet, maybe, maybe, maybe…just around the corner?


	9. War

_**My Daughter**_

"I don't give a bloody hell about your security! I want to talk to the President!"

"Take her into custody, she's clearly insane!"

"But Sir, it's Amelia Williams."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"Children's author?" the guard frowned. "She wrote _Summer Falls_. And _Night Thief of Ill-Harbour_. My kids love her!"

"I don't care who she is! She can't talk to the President and she's attracting the press!"

"I'll attract all the more press if you arrest me," Amy challenged. She offered her hands. "Go ahead, slap the handcuffs on. And I know you're somewhere up there listening, Tricky Dick, so hear this: you are _not_ taking my son!"

The guard apologetically began to secure his handcuffs on Amy's wrists. "Nobody wants their sons to go to Vietnam, ma'am."

Amy grit her teeth, ignoring the guard. "_Jefferson. Adams. Hamilton._ April eighth, nineteen-sixty-nine! The Legs."

"Take her out the back way!" the guard's superior snapped. "Crazy, I tell you."

But as the door opened to lead her out, Amy smiled tersely.

"Uh, Sir?"

"What now?!" The superior looked up and nearly fell over in his seat as he rose to salute his Commander-in-Chief. "Mr. President!"

"Excuse us," Nixon announced.

"But Sir–"

"That's an order."

Amy waited patiently until the guards had left. When the door was shut behind them, she moved to lock it.

"Your hands," Nixon noted. He opened his mouth to call the guards back, but Amy waved him off.

"No need," she said, turning over her hand to reveal a silver key. "Churchill would be jealous."

Nixon neared her as she unlocked the cuffs. "It really _is _you," he breathed. "But…older."

"Yes, well, time will do that to you." She tossed the cuffs onto the desk and bore her eyes into the President's. "Now here's the thing, _Mr._ Nixon, here's the thing I didn't know last time we met: that little girl? Her name was Melody and she was my daughter. But she's gone now and here we are again and now you're trying to take my son from me too. But he's not going. He's not going to war, Dick. Over my dead body!"

"I don't understand–"

"You don't need to. Redact his draft. I believe you owe us that much."

"But if I do it for you–"

"Don't give me the party line. We both know how well this administration keeps secrets." Silently, she added _so far_. "Anthony Brian Williams, nineteen-forty-six. He's in college right now, that's where he's going to stay. Do we have an understanding, Mr. President?"

"Yes."

"Good…and I'm sure this conversation will stay under lock and…" She tossed him the small silver key. "I'll let myself out."


	10. Christmas

_**My Daughter**_

The apartment smelt of pine and presents billowed out from under the tree like red and green bubbles in a bath. Nixon had made good on his word—perhaps for the only time—and Anthony was home for the holidays, making homemade eggnog with his father. Amy couldn't help but think how River liked eggnog too, though she would always bring a little alien rum to spice it with behind Rory's and The Doctor's backs.

But that was then. So many Christmas dinners ago. They'd never have a complete family dinner: her and Rory and River and Anthony and The Doctor. Amy pulled a small silver flask that she'd hid in her stalking and took a swig. Then another. And another. All the while she focused on the tree, with its bright Lisa Frank colored lights growing and starbursting until she'd blink and the process would begin all over again, like a time loop.

"Eggnog's ready!" Anthony announced cheerfully. He strode into the living room balancing a tray with three mugs.

Amy discreetly dropped the flask back into her stalking and smiled as she took one of the mugs from her son. "Smells good."

"Wait 'til you taste it. I think this year's is the best yet!"

Amy sipped the nog, but it seemed dull. She wasn't sure if she'd simply drunken too much or if it was her mood. Or both.

"Anthony wants to go caroling," Rory said as he took a stance beside his wife.

"Hm." Amy fixed her eyes on the angel at the top of the tree. Every few minutes her wings would flare a brilliant gold, which spread to her hands and face. Amy's mind was too far away to think about caroling; instead she thought of Mels in Berlin, and soon, she was thinking of Melody, trying to imagine what her daughter would look like glowing so beautifully somewhere in the dead of a New York night.


	11. Happy New Year

_**My Daughter**_

It was so simple Amy wondered why she hadn't thought of it months ago. She had always been creative, always drawing or painting or crafting, and when River had broken time she'd had an entire train of drawings. So naturally, as soon as she thought of it, she drew her daughter. For three days she drew, erased, redrew, and finally colored an image that was almost true to life. _Almost,_ because in this drawing, Melody was smiling, and that was something Amy had to imagine because she'd never seen it with her own eyes.

Once it was complete she made copies and plastered the flyers up and down every major street. She had to stop and fill her empty tank twice and by dusk, she was down to her original. She began to take the photo around to homeless. "Have you seen her?"

"No."

"Excuse me, have you seen this girl?

"Shh! The demons are coming."

"Please, if you could just take a moment–"

"Do you have any money?"

"I'm looking for my daughter."

"Hghmg."

In the distance, she heard shots in the sky and lifted her head to see the darkness welcoming in 1970.


	12. Hope

_**My Daughter**_

There was no plausible explanation for how she didn't get into a wreck—or pulled over—on her way into the Lower East Side. After weeks of waiting, one lone soup kitchen employee had called to say that he thought he might have seen Melody, but he couldn't be sure. He did, however, leave an address.

Amy was shaking as she climbed out of her car, address in hand, and lifted it to compare to the street sign. Yes, she was in the right place. "Melody!" she called, hurrying to the nearest alleyway. "Melody!"

Rats scurried.

"Melody, it's me, your Mum!"

A dog barked.

"Excuse me, ma'am, have you see this little girl?"

"Sorry."

Amy wiped her face and wished Rory was there to help her, but he was at work at the hospital…and her searched pained him anyway, for he didn't think they ever would find Melody. "Please, sir, have you seen this child?"

"I ain't seen 'er, lady. Ya tried the cops?"

The sun wavered in the sky, eventually falling away completely, allowing the moon and stars to take its vigil. Without her flashlight, she followed her way back to her car using the street lamps, always careful to keep one eye ahead of her and one eye watching for muggers. Once inside, she locked the doors and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel in despair. She'd searched blocks out from the soup kitchen to no avail.

Amy barely pulled onto the street when a blur of motion caused her to slam her brakes and she realized it was a raggedy old dark skinned man, running across the street, screaming. She was ready to get out and find out why when a spray of light caught the corner of her eye. She could hear her heart blaring in her chest, loud enough to be her car horn.

She left her car running in the middle of the street and ran to the alley. At first it seemed like a dirty checkered hovering in mid air with a golden sparkler exploding inside, but Amy knew better. She'd seen the Tesselecta's imitation at Lake Silencio and she'd seen Mels in Berlin: it was a regeneration.

It was Melody!

The gold began to fade and for one brief moment, Amy saw her daughter's face, and Melody saw hers. For a second, just a skip of a heartbeat, she saw a smile, and it was exactly as she imagined; as she'd drawn on the missing posters.

And then, it was gone; replaced by a new face. The dirty ginger hair was now black and smooth, like a panther's coat, her skin pale, and her eyes dark brown above high fat cheeks the size of golf balls. Suddenly her clothes were slightly too big for her.

"Melody?"

The child smiled and a kiss of golden energy wisped from her lips. "Mommy?"


	13. Spoilers

_**My Daughter**_

"It's her, Rory, it's Melody! I watched her regenerate with my own eyes!"

Rory knelt down beside the small child. She looked, well, she looked Chinese. He leaned into her face until their noses bumped and the girl giggled. "Melody?"

Melody curled her thin arms around Rory's neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He could feel the energy tingle in his skin, but unlike the Nazi soldiers in Berlin, it wasn't a painful experience. He pulled his daughter to his chest and fell backwards, not even caring as pain thrummed through his skull when he landed headfirst on the floor.

Amy squatted down beside them, tears in her eyes. "We finally get to raise her," she whispered. "Properly."

Just then, the front door burst open and Anthony stumbled inside clutching a manila folder in one hand and his apartment key in the other. He was hacking and cherry faced. "I met her!" he exclaimed. "I met Melody!"

Rory, still on his back, rolled his eyes back as far as he could to try and get a view of his son.

Anthony suddenly stopped, only just noticing the child seated on his father's chest. "Who's she?"

Amy and Rory looked carefully at one another and said together: "Melody."

Anthony's lower jaw unhinged. "But – but –" He shook his head and the manila folder fell from his hand and papers fluttered across the floor.

"What do you mean," Rory began.

"You met Melody?" Amy finished.

"Uh…" Anthony pushed the door shut with his hip and dropped to the floor, scraping together the haphazard papers even though his eyes were focused on his parents and the little girl they claimed was Melody. But, surely, not _the _Melody… "Do you remember last year, July, I called really late one night?" He looked to his mother. "You asked me what was wrong?"

Amy nodded slowly. "Mother's intuition…"

"I didn't know who she was at first. She showed up in one of my classes, said she was substituting for my core humanities professor, called herself Professor Zucker. Strange woman, with tick marks on her hands." He shook his head. "The next thing I know she wants to speak with me after class and I think I'm really in for it because I was goofing off with a buddy at the back of class, but instead she hands me this" he held up the folder "and said to tell you she was sorry she couldn't bring it to you herself. She asked me if I knew who she was and that's when I realized it." He thumped his palm to his forehead. "She was a dead ringer for Melody Malone! I couldn't quite bring myself to believe it was her at first—you know how your fans are—but then she shows me this photo from her diary, of you two on your wedding day, and I knew she was telling the truth. But she said I couldn't give you this until tonight; I couldn't even tell you I even spoke with her until tonight. She said–"

"Spoilers."

Anthony nodded. His eyes lingered on the child. "You called her 'Melody,' why?"

"Well," Rory said softly, "we _did_ tell you about regeneration."

"But–"

"It's her," Amy interjected. "It's your sister." She suddenly noticed a paper sticking out from Anthony's folder and plucked it from him. Silently, she handed it to Rory.

"What?" Anthony asked. "What does it say?"

"It's an adoption certificate. A _forged_ adoption certificate from China," Rory said. He held up the paperwork proclaiming the child at his side as—at least as far as 1970 New York City was concerned—_Melody Williams_.


	14. The Eye

_**My Daughter**_

"I think your sister's giving me 'the eye.'"

Anthony peered across the room, but Melody had her nose buried in her coloring book. He smiled a little. "She just likes watching out for me."

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?" Ethan frowned. "You're the big brother here, _you're_ supposed to be babysitting _her_."

Anthony scrunched up his face as if to say, _debatable_. "Oh, leave her alone. If she doesn't like you now, you'll grow to." He set his hand atop Ethan's. "Just as much as I do."

Ethan blushed. "I very much doubt that."

Melody peered up from her coloring book, blue crayon still gripped between her fingers, and smiled coyly.


	15. Wonder

_**My Daughter**_

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

"What on Earth–"

_Plunk!_

"Daaaaaad!" Melody screeched. She was on the floor, rubbing her head where it had hit when she'd fallen off the bed.

Rory stared wide eyed at the bed in question. "Is that the new prototype for my Williams Wonder bed three point o'?"

Melody sat up and shrugged. "You were the one who put it there so I guess only you would know, Daddy."

"Were you jumping on my Williams Wonder Bed three point o'?"

Melody swallowed thickly.

Suddenly Rory's mouth curved into a sly grin. "Without me?"

Melody's mouth curved into a grin as her father offered his hand to help her up, then he tossed her onto the bed and they held hands as they bounced and bounced.

_Thwump – thwump._

_Thwump – thwump._

_Thwump – thwump._

_Thwump – thwump._

When their legs felt like pudding and their heads swam as if in maple syrup, they collapsed together, and the Williams Wonder Bed 3.0 was where Amy and Anthony found them hours later, when they came from the store; Melody's head on Rory's chest, both of them dead to the world.


	16. Heartsache

_**My Daughter**_

The slamming of the door rocked the apartment. Amy looked up from her latest book outline and slowly set down her pencil. "I've got this." She tried knocking first.

"Go away!"

Amy smiled. "Same old Mels." The second time she just pulled a bobby from her hair and picked the lock.

Melody was face down on her bed, with her pillow pulled over her head.

Amy sat down beside her daughter and placed a hand on the curve of her Melody's back. "Whoever he or she is, they're not worth it."

"That's easy for you to say, you've got Dad."

"I didn't always had Dad."

"Yes you did," Rory argued from the door. "You just didn't know it."

"Not helping, Stupid Face."

Melody peeked out from under her pillow, her face wet. "I hate school, I hate relationships, I hate being a kid. Sometimes I just wanna…"

Amy patted Melody's shoulder. "Why don't we call up Anthony? The four of us could catch a movie or something."

Melody wrinkled her nose. "And be the fifth wheel? No way!"

"Fifth wheel?"

"Wherever Anthony goes, Ethan goes. Then there's the mushy ol' pair of you. Usually that's great, the four of you, but not today, please."

"Okay, just the three of us then. Wherever you want to go."

Melody rolled over and eyed her parents suspiciously. "Maybe I want to ditch school for a week and go cross country?"

Amy looked at her husband.

Rory frowned. "I'll have to make a call–"

"Seriously?!" Melody blurted.

"One heartache is bad enough," Amy replied. "You have to be doubly accommodating to those with two."


	17. The Water

_**My Daughter**_

"Help!"

Amy plowed through the door, stubbing her toe on the dresser in the process. She hobbled to Melody's bed, with Rory not far behind, and tried to mask the pain as Rory shook their daughter awake.

"It's okay, it's okay," Rory soothed. "It was just a bad dream!"

Melody sat up and hung her arms around Rory's neck, shaking her head furiously. "I was drowning," she gasped. "I was drowning!"

Amy and Rory looked at one another, ever aware of Melody's desire to be dirty than take baths and her utter loathing at the idea of swim lessons, which Anthony had loved as a child.

"I'll be right back," Amy said coolly.

Rory rubbed his daughter's back. "It's okay."

"Melody, I want to show you something," Amy said as she returned. "It's something I've kept with me every day since you were taken from me. Give me your hand." When Melody complied, Amy laid her palm over her daughter's. "You don't need to be afraid of the water. You were born a Pond."

"But ponds are small and still."

"Not all Ponds are small," Rory said, his eyes on his wife.

Amy removed her hand, revealing Lorna Bucket's prayer leaf.

Melody studied the stitching and soon it began to morph into something else: _River_.

"And sometimes the Pond is a River. A rushing, raging River."

"I don't understand."

"You will," Rory promised. "And one day, you'll be high diving into pools, you can take my word for it."


	18. Mortality

_**My Daughter**_

"Ah! Sh–"

"Anthony!" Rory howled from the next room. "Your sister!"

Anthony shimmied across the kitchen to run his hand under the cold faucet.

Melody hopped onto the counter beside him, knowing her parents didn't allow that, and watched with interest as his blood curled down the drain. "Too bad you can't heal yourself."

"I can," Anthony said, his voice low and sarcastic. "It's called a band-aid and time."

"Yeah, well, I can't die," Melody smirked.

"Yeah," Anything said, his eyes on her. "I never really got that. How do you do it?"

Melody shrugged. "I don't know, I just…do. It just happens."

"But how do you change into someone else?"

"I – don't know? I never really understood it, they just told me that I could do it."

"How many times have you done it?"

"Just once…that I know of."

Anthony turned off the water and Melody hopped down to walk with him to the bathroom. "Does it hurt?"

Melody eyed the knife wound on her brother's hand, which had begun to seep as soon as the water had been turned off. "You're better off with the band-aid."


	19. Diagnosis

_**My Daughter**_

"They can run other tests, they can–"

"Amy, they can't."

"No. No! I refuse to accept this. I can't lose you, Rory."

"You'll never lose me."

Anthony awoke to the sound of gentle sobbing and slowly peeled out of his sleeping bag to find out why. "Mel? Melly?"

Melody refused to turn over when he touched her shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

Melody shook her head. Her senses were highly superior to his and she could hear the whispers even now as Anthony spoke over them.

"How do we tell them?"


	20. Waiting

_**My Daughter**_

Melody was crouched at the water cooler filling a Dixie cup when she heard Anthony come up behind her. She knew it was him by his shuffle.

"He's asking for you."

Melody wiped a tear from her cheek before she turned around. She knew Anthony was expecting her to say something, but she didn't, and finally he relented when he recognized her stubbornness.

Her mother lay beside her father on the bed in outright defiance of the hospital staff. She had his hands clasped in hers, holding him as if they were falling.

"Shhh," Rory hushed.

Amy shook her head. "Together or not at all, remember?"

Rory pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "It's okay. It's not over for you. You'll see me again, Amy."

"And if I don't?"

Melody moved to the other side of the bed and touched her father's shoulder.

"Melody. My little Melody Pond. Anthony? Where's–"

"Right here, Dad."

"You take care of each other."A wheeze squeezed out of his throat. "This is what I always dreamed of. It feels just how I thought it would. So – so warm."

"Rory!" Amy pleaded. She gripped at his collar.

Rory smiled serenely. "I'll be waiting..."


	21. First Sight

_**My Daughter**_

"Mom, it's Dad's birthday."

"I don't care."

"Yes you do," Anthony insisted. "Somewhere in Leadworth he's _alive_ and everything's just starting for him."

Melody crawled onto the bed beside her mother and began to braid her red hair. "Mom, tell us about Leadworth."

Anthony took a seat at the edge of the bed. "Yeah, tell us about Leadworth."

Amy dabbed her eyes with the edge of her bed sheet. "I remember the first time I saw it. I thought it was rubbish! I hated Leadworth. I never realized I'd miss it." She smiled in spite of herself. "We'd barely gotten the last piece of furniture moved in when the doorbell rang and when I opened it, there was Brian and _Rory_, come to welcome us to the neighborhood."


	22. Sneak Preview

_**My Daughter**_

"I'm_ not_ going to college."

"Why not?" Anthony argued. "You're smart enough!"

"I'm_ too_ smart."

"Toot your own horn much, _Melody_."

"That's not clever." She glared at her brother. "And I _am_. I hated school, it was soooo boring!"

"What do you like to do?"

Melody shrugged. "I don't know. I – I like to see stuff. I like vacations."

"You like to travel."

"That's what I said. And stories. I like stories."

"Mom was a travel journalist once. Maybe you'd like that?"

"Journals are stupid."

"Journal_ism_."

"I know what you said, it's still rubbish!"

Anthony flicked his hands at her. "Suit yourself, little sister."

"I was born before you!"

"Yeah, well, you're still a shrimp!"

"Did someone say 'shrimp'?" Amy asked, walking in as Anthony walked out. "That's a great idea, I'd love some!"

Melody glared. "You know I can't cook."

"Yeah," Amy frowned. "Neither can I. Takeout?"

Melody nodded eagerly. She moved to the coat closet as her mother got the car keys and noticed a tan long coat hanging to the left. Tentatively, she got it out and slipped it on.

"Where did you find that?" Amy asked upon returning.

"Oh, uh, just sitting in the closet. Yours?"

Amy smiled. "Yeah, for an old publication party."

"Which book?"

"You haven't read it," Amy said dismissively.

"Oh?" Melody grinned. "A mystery! I like that."

"You usually do."


	23. Commitment

_**My Daughter**_

"I don't understand the desire to get married and tied down to someone forever."

"Easy for you to say," Anthony scoffed. "You like boys."

"And girls. But I like to look at them. And occasionally do things with them. I wouldn't want to be bound to either one forever."

"Well you can rail against it all you want, I don't care. Meanwhile, Ethan and I are going to go celebrate our engagement and you can come or you can not."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Anthony. I'll come, even if I don't see the point."

"The point is, I have it on very good authority we'll be to get married by two-thousand-eleven."

"Nineteen years, Brother."

"It'll be worth it."


	24. Superhero

_**My Daughter**_

When Anthony arrived, the news was on, but the television was muted. Footage of fire and smoke filled the screen. On the couch he saw his mother, busily scribbling on a drawing pad. "Mom?" He moved closer when she didn't answer. "Mom," he said slowly. "There was a bombing downtown."

"Mhmm," Amy mumbled.

"At the museum."

"Yes."

"Melody was working today."

Amy stopped drawing. She turned and offered her sketching tablet to her son. "I've been working on a story. A graphic novel. I knew how it would end, but I wasn't sure how it would get there."

Anthony examined the hand drawn scenes. In the background he heard his mother unmute the TV.

"…and survivors say a young employee threw herself over the bomb. Investigators are puzzled by the minimal damage done to the museum. A suspect is in custody…"

In the last frame, Anthony saw his sister, smile on her face, surrounded by a halo of golden light.


	25. Leadworth

**A/N: **Last vignette! 25 chapters for an October 25 birthday (even though I shamefully did not get them all up yesterday).

_**My Daughter**_

Her mind was fuzzy. She tried to remember, but all she could see when she closed her eyes was a face she'd never seen before. A social worker, he'd called himself. That's what he said when the dark skinned couple answered the door.

"Is this her?"

"Yes, her name is Melody."

"Last name?"

"Unknown."

The woman picked her up and hugged her close and Melody wanted to fight back, but the woman was too big, too strong. She wanted to scream _NO_ but the only thing she could muster were shrieking sobs.

"It's okay, Melody," the dark skinned man told her. "Soon you'll adjust just fine."

Melody wailed. Where was Mom? Where was Anthony?

"I'll put her down," the woman said, bouncing Melody as she carried her upstairs to a lavender painted room.

Minutes later the woman's companion returned. "She's a lively one, isn't she?"

"She'll adjust, won't you, Melody Zucker?"

But Melody wasn't looking at the Zuckers, she was looking at the creatures behind them with faces like _The Scream_. Oh, she knew them, she remembered everything! And then she heard a sound, a whirring, groaning sound that hurt her ears, and she knew that too, somehow, so she rolled over in its direction, _The Scream _creatures forgotten. But the sound didn't last long and soon she was alone in the room. Melody closed her eyes, but she didn't sleep.


End file.
